


Wide Awake

by paigecruz



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Allegiant, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, mature - Freeform, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-11
Packaged: 2018-01-01 05:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paigecruz/pseuds/paigecruz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'ALLEGIANT' SPOILER ALERT! </p><p>They are alone in the spare room again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wide Awake

**Author's Note:**

> 'ALLEGIANT' SPOILER ALERT! 
> 
> You can also read this on [fanfiction.net](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9838976/1/Wide-Awake) or [tumblr](http://pipayyy.tumblr.com/post/66694548820/wide-awake-a-divergent-fanfiction). 
> 
> Needless to say, Allegiant broke me. I don't normally write stuff like _this_. Also,cliché title, I know. Ahem.

_Tobias_  
-

Everything is quiet except for the sound of our breathing, which is rapid and heavy as if we had just run right off the chasm and plunged straight into the mouth of the raging torrent below. And then I recall that we are nowhere _near_ Dauntless headquarters—we are in a spare room at the compound, miles outside the factions, outside the city they call Chicago, a place that was once our home. 

But right now, my home is with her. 

We move deeper into the room, fumbling at the fabric that separates us. I am desperate for her warmth, and I can tell she feels the same from the way her hands seek purchase onto my shirt, fingers plucking frantically at my collar. I lift my head, grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my body, and suddenly I feel her cool palms press onto my chest, dragging them upwards into my hair, tugging and leading my mouth to hers. I pull away long enough to divest her of her shirt, ripping the seams of a sleeve in my haste. 

Before she can kiss me again, I take a step back. I do not touch her; instead, I take my time admiring the lithe lines of her body, outlined by what little moonlight filters in through the window. 

She says she is not pretty, but I think everything about her is beautiful. I follow the jut of her collarbone where three ravens are imprinted onto her skin, one for each member of her family, black wings spread and ready to take flight. My eyes trail downwards, from the slight swells of her breasts, their peaks taut from the cold, to the gentle curve of her hips which disappear into the waistband of her jeans. 

A ripple goes through her body, and my eyes snap back into hers; already I see her shying away, arms shifting to cross over her chest, but I move forward and she stops. I bring a hand to her cheek, kissing her softly, latching onto her bottom lip and coaxing her to respond. 

I feel a smile coming on when she does.

I walk her backwards into the dark, barely registering her gasp of surprise as we hit the edge of a couch. She falls on her back, albeit unceremoniously, the springs protesting under her weight. She looks a little miffed, but when I quirk my eyebrows at her, she bursts into a giggling fit, and something else explodes in my chest, my body warm and tingling, and she is all I see.

I settle down next to her, wedging my body into what little space the couch allows, all the while keeping her gaze. Her eyes are bright, shocks of blue beneath onyx-tinted glass, and I do not miss the flurry of emotions that pass through them—mischief, and longing, and maybe a bit of fear. 

Immediately, I want to make her feel other things instead—that she is beautiful, and loved, and brave—and am about to do just that when my attention is quickly diverted to the fingers that run along my sides, deft and nimble as they explore the expanse of ink marking my skin. The burning path they create makes my hair stand on end. 

I muffle a groan and close my eyes, determined to keep myself in check, but she is already hard at work.

She crawls over me, propping a hand on either side of my head before bending down to fix her mouth over mine. I am frozen, startled by her forwardness. She alternates between teasing kisses onto the corners of my mouth and nibbling on my lower lip, our breaths mingling as she does so. Just when I am about to respond, she dodges my touch, her head disappearing from my view. 

My hands spring up in reflex to grasp her by the hips when I feel the scrape of teeth on my neck. My heart jumpstarts into a frenzy. I sense the wet slick of tongue over my pulse, and grunt, gripping her harder. 

She snickers. It is obviously the reaction she expects, and she carries on fearlessly, splaying a hand over my stomach, which clenches at her touch, but I am all fired up. Curling an arm around her waist, I flip us over. With her arms pinned down on the couch, we come at a standstill, staring each other down. 

She is the first to break as she fidgets underneath me, and the smirk is still there—but not for long.

I touch my lips to hers once, twice, maybe three times, moving languorously as I travel further down.I trace her body with my mouth, moving slowly over each symbol on her neck, kissing the bundle of nerves atop her breasts; I smile wickedly into her skin when she gives little gasps and hiccups like music to my ears. 

I continue my ministrations, reaching her stomach, my tongue slipping into the dip of her navel. She bucks underneath me, and the contact makes me hiss. I move over her again, unlacing my hands from hers to wander the length of her body. They linger along the top of her jeans, fingering the button that holds them in place, and I hesitate, but only for a second.

A small hand covers mine, and when I look up, her eyes convey their consent. 

Our clothes rustle as they fall into a heap on the floor, and a sharp cry pierces the air, but I do not know if it is hers or mine. I can only think of her, and the way she feels around me while I fall deep, and then deeper, as far as she allows me to. Her hands clutch at my hair, and she sighs my name into my ear over and over again, her voice raw and shaky, and we are both close. 

Too close. 

She pulls my face toward hers, our noses colliding. I am relishing in the sensations of being outside of my body and molding into her, and I am whispering into her ear, “ _I love you, I love you, I love_ —” when I teeter off the edge, her name on my tongue—

—and I jerk upright in bed, panting. The room is too cold, too quiet, even as I hear my own heart rattling against my ribcage, the blood pounding into my ears like a waterfall crashing toward a mass of boulders. I put out a hand beside me, seeking her warmth. 

But my hand closes only around thin air. I do not need to look; I already know that next to me are empty sheets. A familiar panic wells up inside me, and then I remember.

Two months.

It has been two months since she has gone, and suddenly, the room feels larger, emptier. 

And I am alone again. 

-  
I do not know how much time passes before I lie back down on the mattress, my muscles throbbing from sitting up for too long. My thoughts are stray bullets, scrabbling around my head, desperate to hit home, but I do not try to make sense of them. The hollow in my chest expands, spreading throughout my body like a virus, and although I am accustomed to the sting of her loss, this is something I cannot ignore. 

I look up, staring hard at the ceiling. My body beckons for sleep, but she is alive in my mind, her eyes sharp and bright, the ghost of her lips lingering on mine. I am numb, yet her memory burns me still and keeps me wide awake.


End file.
